


A Different Life

by idiom



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Light Angst, M/M, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, drakecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiom/pseuds/idiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn't know they were brothers. Nate and Sam grew up separately, neither of them knowing that the other existed. Their mom, Cassandra, took Nate with her when she escaped from her abusive husband. Their father stole Sam away from Cassandra, causing her to sink into a deep depression. </p><p>When he was only 5 years old, Sam was surrendered to the state without his mother’s knowledge, leaving the boy to a lonely childhood in an orphanage. </p><p>It’s funny how even in this different life their plots still came together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nathamuel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nathamuel/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting off tame here with a bit of a prelude, but just you wait for part 2~ ;)
> 
> Also, I'm gifting this fic to framesonthewall who is god of the Drakecest fic! Go read (after you're finished reading this of course :P) 
> 
> LASTLY I'm excited you're here and I love this ship, but just a reminder that this is fantasy~ If you don't like this sort of thing and cannot separate fantasy from reality, I suggest not reading this fic. Otherwise, enjoy the Drakecest~

 

 

Sam Morgan always had hard time reconciling the fact that, although both his parents were apparently alive somewhere, he’d grown up in an orphanage. That’s probably why he acted out so much. Well, it was the excuse he gave the nuns anyway.

“Samuel Morgan!”

That shrill voice stopped Sam in his tracks. Rolling his eyes, he turned slowly towards the black-cowled woman who was quickly approaching through the long stone hallway. Her feet, bound up in black oxford shoes tapped furiously as she made her way over.

“What’d I do now?” Sam drawled.      

“You know very well what you did, young man,” the sister replied as she marched up beside him.

Sam looked up at her innocently, running one hand through his hair to scratch his head.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

Before he could finish, the nun grabbed him by the ear with pinched fingers and dragged him along behind her through the halls. He groaned, but kept up with her easily, only wincing slightly at the pain in his tilted neck. His ear had long since been desensitized to this particular treatment.

“I swear! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sam tried again. He was usually great at playing naive, but he could tell in this instance that the sister wasn’t buying his act.

“You mean to tell me, you have no idea why half of Harry McTavish’s face is black and blue and your-“ Sister Shea stopped and snatched Sam’s wrist in her hand, pulling it up until it was at his eye level. “-knuckles are bruised.”

Sam pulled a face at the sight of his own joints. “Guess you caught me red handed.”

Sister Shea scoffed so loud it echoed down the halls. A second later Sam’s ear was back between her fingers and they were on their way to see the Priest....

...for the third time in as many weeks.

 

 

Nathan Drake bit his lips, holding back tears as they lowered his mother’s coffin into the ground. Evelyn held his shoulders as he cried, her frail hands petting him gently. The old woman watched, her grey eyes rimmed with sorrow as the dirt was slowly piled onto the sleek black varnish, burying the ornate coffin and the treasure that sadly filled it.

A priest stood before the hollowed ground and read a customary verse before closing his bible to lead the gathered mourners in prayer. When he finished, people slowly began filing away, leaving the graveyard one by one like black flecks of ash escaping a fire. The chairs were slowly vacated until only Evelyn and Nate were left in their places at the edge of that six foot hole.

“Let’s go home, Nathan,” Evelyn said, her weary voice shaking.

Nate would go with her. He would return to the place he’d called home for as long as he could remember. It wouldn’t be the same with his mother gone. Of course it wouldn’t...

But Cassandra been sick for a long while. Holed up at Evelyn’s house, locked away, growing sicker and sicker for years, all the while she finished some of her greatest historical work.

“Grandma will take care of you. Don’t worry, Nate.” Those had been Cassandra’s final words to both of them and, though she was old, Evelyn would keep her dying partner’s promise.

She would keep it even if she was scared for the boy she took as her charge. His mother had just died and Evelyn knew that she herself didn’t have many years left in her. She was an old woman, she had already lived her life and in that life she had never really been fit to be a mother, but for Cassandra, she would try again.

Evelyn held Nate close to her and walked him back to the black car that waited to escort them home.

She wouldn’t fail her child. Not again.

 

 

It was night, and the orange glow of the street lamps shined dimly through the windows of Saint Francis’ Boy’s Home. With the eerie beams slipping through the cracked glass panes lighting his way, Sam made his way down through the deserted corridors of the boys’ dorms.

He had three hours. Three hours to get out of the orphanage, over the roof tops and past the barbed-wire-topped walls to meet Eddy and his crew.

 

On as many nights as he could, Sam found ways to escape the orphanage. One such night, he’d come across a group of street kids all gathered hopefully around a young and commanding traveler, Eddy Raja.

“I’ve come here, to your streets, recruiting treasure hunters. ” Eddy spoke above the group, his high accented voice carrying over their heads. “You Americans... you may not have heard of him, but my dad’s the richest man in all of Indonesia, and I’m gonna be richer.” He smirked. “I just need a few loyal monkeys to help me get there.”

Despite the insult, many of the kids were excited by the prospect of getting off the streets. But Sam only raised an eyebrow. He was ninety-nine percent sure they were all going to end up child soldiers in some civil war halfway across the world.

“So, you some kind of pirate?” Sam asked, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

Eddy just cocked his head. “If getting rich on the high seas makes me a pirate, call me a pirate!” Throwing his hands out to the sides, he laughed manically.

Sam rolled his eyes. He knew better than to get caught up with crazy. He waved the kid off with one hand and was about to walk away when Eddy called him back.

“Oi!”

Sam stopped in his tracks and turned just in time to see the young pirate toss him something. It glittered and shined in the evening light as it flew towards him.

Sam snatched it from the air, catching it in one hand. Opening his palm revealed a single gold coin. It was old, imprinted with the face of a long dead roman emperor.

Constantine. Sam recognized him from history classes. He was the first Christian emperor after all.

Sam raised an eyebrow. Okay, maybe crazy actually made for a half-decent pirate.

Well aware of the impression he’d made, Eddy smirked. “If you wanna get out of the place and see more of this?” He held up a second coin before tossing it blindly into the crowd of gathered children. “You come with Eddy. Same time, same place, three days.”

Sam got away from the group before the kids scrabbling with each other for a single coin started a riot. As he walked back towards the orphanage, he couldn’t stop fingering the coin he’d slipped into in his pocket. He couldn’t help but wonder...

What would that life be like?

 

That’s why, three days later and with three hours to spare, Sam found himself tip toeing through stony convent halls, holding his shoes in one hand so his socked feet could dampen the echoes of his footsteps. He had packed a bag, barely full up with his meagre belongings and he was ready to make his break into a life of oceanic crime.

He was nearing the end of the hall, about to move through the front entry way. That was when he heard voices ahead. Hugging tight to the wall near the door, Sam stopped, hid and waited.

“I know he’s been trouble, Sister Shea, but do think I might have gotten through this last time.” The priest’s soft, fair voice reverberated gently off the wooden rafters.

Peaking though one door’s stain glass window, Sam could see the man heading towards the exit with Sister Shea following close behind.

“You say that every time,” the nun replied. Sam could practically hear the eye roll in her tone. “Besides, he’s a Morgan. We should have known nothing good would come out of him the day we took him in.”

“Careful now, Sister,” the priest murmured. “It would be wrong to hold prejudices, despite the child’s background.”

“Of course, father.” The nun sighed.

Sam listened to them sneering. All the more reason for him to get away.

As soon as the hollow sound of the main door closing echoed through the hall and the tapping of Sister Shea’s tight-laced oxfords faded into the distance, Sam slipped outside through nearest unbarred window. From there, he made a swift escape from the convent prison, over slated roofs and red-brick walls, on towards a new life.

 

 

It had been several years since his mother died. Nate settled in well given that nothing much had changed. Evelyn had been taking care of him since his mother’s illness first started to fester. She had always been like family to them, caring for Cassandra in her condition and taking care of Nate as if he were her own blood.

That’s why it hit Nate hard when, on the anniversary of his mother’s death, Evelyn was rushed to hospital in a critical condition.

It was late, and Nate had only come down from his room for a glass of water.

He peaked into the office and saw Evelyn sitting in a chair lighting a cigarette with her favourite antique lighter. She asked what he was doing up so late, he told her the truth, he just wanted a glass of water. Nothing strange or out of the ordinary.

One minute Evelyn was telling him to hurry back to bed, then, before Nate could even reply with a goodnight, she was clutching her chest.

Her cigarette fell from her fingers. Her pale eyes grew wide.

She gasped for air, but her breath stopped.

She tried to stand, but her legs failed her.

She fell.

Nate watched her frail body hit the ground heavily. He ran towards her only briefly before sprinting for the nearest phone.

 

Nate barely noticed the passage of time between that moment and the moment paramedics finally arrived.

The ambulance drove up and took Evelyn away at a lighting speed. As soon as the wail of the ambulance sirens faded, more came and the police pulled into the drive. They were full of questions, but also generous with their sympathy.

When they were satisfied that nothing nefarious had happened, Nate was left alone to wait up all night for a call from the hospital. It finally came early the next morning, just as the sun was starting to turn the sky from black to grey.

“Hello?” Nate answered quickly.

The nurse spoke gently.

“Is this Nathan Drake.”

“Yes,” his laconic reply betrayed his worry.

“Your guardian, Evelyn, she’s going to be alright.”

Nate sighed. Thank god, he thought to himself. He didn’t pray much since Evelyn wasn’t religious like his mom had been, but he’d definitely spent a lot of time praying that night.

“She was bruised up in the fall,” the nurse continued “Nothing she says she hasn’t dealt with before. Still, the doctors have to do some tests. They’ll keep her under observation for a few weeks at most, then they think she should be well enough to return home.”

There was a pause, the nurse seemed to be waiting for Nate to say something, but he didn’t have anything to say.

“Are you home by yourself, Nathan?” She asked. “Evelyn’s only other emergency contacts are, well, unfortunately they’re both deceased as she hasn’t updated them in a while, but I could call-”

“I’m fifteen, I’ll be fine on my own,” Nate muttered.

Again the nurse paused.

She sighed. “Well, if you have any other family members or friends you could call, we would urge you to do so.”

“Fine, okay...” Nate rubbed his eyes, he just wanted the call to be over. “Uh, can I come visit the hospital soon?”

“Of course, Nathan. Visiting hours start a 9.”          

“Okay. Thanks... Bye.” Nate placed the phone back onto the receiver. He sat still for a long while, trying to ignore the odd shivers going through his body. Finally, he let his head fall to his hands. He breathed shuddering breaths in and out, trying not to cry.

 

 

Sam stood outside the ornate steal gate, watching the pale spectrum of dusk-light shining off the high windows of the mansion he was about to rob. He’d been back stateside for a just a few months and already he’d gotten himself into trouble. You’d think he’d be used to it after his time spent working with Eddy and his merry band of pirates, but Sam never ever really got used to the people who want to kill him for money. He sort of accepted it, but it was still always a bit surprising how greedy people could be.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Sam muttered to himself.

He let out a huff and tossed his rucksack up and over the gate. It landed with a dull thunk on the grass as he climbed up the rough brick wall after it. Moments later, he dropped down into the grass scooping the bag up as he landed.

Gradually, he made his way across the extravagantly decorated yard, towards the dark and looming mansion.

 

The mansion was vast, however despite the abundance of space, its occupants had managed to fill it to the brim. When Sam first hopped into the attic through a window that had been precariously left open, he found himself surrounded by boxes upon boxes of junk: camping gear and notebooks, old letters and photo albums. Nothing worth much.

Sam had a hard time squeezing through the room and most of the doors he came across couldn’t even be opened because the halls behind them were piled high with junk. The place may have looked nice from the outside, but inside it was nothing but a glorified storage unit.

Things started to get a bit more interesting as he worked his way down to the lower floors.

“Now we’re talking,” Sam murmured to himself.

The place was practically a museum and judging by the artefacts scattered about, home to a great explorer... and obvious looter (not that he could judge, given his own piratic track record).

Sam wandered, taking the time to appreciate the collection of wonders that filled every nook and cranny as he moved around the empty house. He was so enamoured of the history around him, he almost forgot what he’d broken in there for until finally he entered into what appeared to be the front lobby.

The open area was separated into several parts with a gorgeous set of staircases leading up to balconies that hung over the decorated rooms. Every shelf, windowsill, coffee and end table was cluttered full of the most amazing artefacts. Sam had come upon a hoard of small trinkets, antiques and knick knacks, all little expensive things that some scuzzy pawn shop owner would buy off him for a small fortune.

He dropped his empty bag to the floor and rubbed his hands together gleefully. He set about examining some of the pieces to determine which would be worth taking. Only, he was quickly distracted. There was a book on one table, Sam recognized the cover immediately and stepped forward towards it to get a better look.

“Oh hey! Nice!” he laughed. It was an old pirate history book. They used to have it in the library at the orphanage (the one non religious book in the place). Sam must have read it through a hundred times.

Unsurprisingly, nostalgia got the better of him.

Sam plucked the book off the table and flipped it open, smiling at how easy it still was for him to thumb to his favourite part. He had just started reading when soft feet padded towards him, hardly making a sound.

Sam only looked up from the page he was scanning when the winding click of an old-fashioned handgun cylinder locking into place came from behind him. It was a sound Sam had only ever heard in 40s westerns.

Seconds later, an all too young voice demanded, “Hands where I can see them!”

Another sound he had only ever heard in 40s westerns.

Still holding the book in one hand, Sam raised his arms and turned around slowly coming face to gun with his young assailant. He was, at first, a bit stunned. The kid was adorable. He had to hold the gun up at a forty-five degree angle to point it at Sam’s head and no doubt his aim would be off since his floppy brunet hair was falling across his forehead and into eyes that were dark and narrow like cut sapphires.

Sam tilted his body slightly, trying to get a better look at the kid’s face through his dangling fringe.

“Uh, hi,” he said, awkwardly waving the book in his raised hand. “Sam Morgan.”

“Hi. Don’t really care,” The kid replied. “Now, drop the book.” He didn’t for a second lower the gun or take his eyes off Sam.

Sam raised a wary brow as he gently placed the book down on the table where he’d found it. “So, uh, you must be the landlord,” he teased as he righted himself took a few casual steps forward, hands still held high.

The kid tried to back up, but he bumped into the arm of a couch. He only briefly cast his eyes back at the offending object.

“I’m Nathan Drake, and yeah, this is my house you’ve broken into,” he bit out, trying to hold his ground and keep his distance at the same time. He was starting to feel more and more like he was the one in trouble, despite the gun in his hands.

Sam took another step forward as he let out a heavy sigh. “Well, Nate... I’m really sorry about this, but-” he didn’t finish.

Before Nate could register what had happened, Sam dipped to the side and reached for his willowy arms, tangling them with his own, locking Nate’s elbows.

With one movement, Sam knocked the gun from Nathan’s hands, effectively disarming him. The weapon fell to the ground with a clatter that echoed off the high ceiling. The old gun came apart when it hit the floor, the cylinder rolling out of it, empty.

Not about to be taken down so easily, Nate fought back. He used his smaller body to unbalance Sam, leaning backwards until Sam toppled over him. They quickly found themselves falling gracelessly onto one of the many plush couches scattered around the living room.

They wrestled for a while, a tangled mass of gangly teenage limbs, hands grappling in the fabric of each other’s clothes, legs twisting. Unsurprisingly, Sam was the more experienced fighter. He eventually got Nate’s writs above his head, his grip soft because it didn’t take much to hold the smaller boy down.

“Look, I don’t wanna hurt you!”

“Then get off me!”

“Says the kid who threatened to shoot me a second ago? No thanks, I think I’ll stay put...”

Nate wrapped his legs around Sam’s thighs, trying to flip their positions, but Sam didn’t let up. He bucked his hips, trying to throw the larger boy off him.

Sam only hissed. “Hey, careful where your knees are rubbing!”

Nate stopped immediately, his face turning bright red. He settled down with a huff, turning his head away.

“What do you want?” He demanded, without looking up at the boy looming over him.

Sam snorted out a laugh and leaned in closer. “I was just gonna rob the house, but since you’re here for the taking...”

Nate gaze shot back towards him, his blue eyes wide. The absolute horror there in caused Sam to backtrack frantically.

“That was- I’m not a- I was joking! That was a joke!” he clarified quickly. He released Nate immediately, a show of good will. The boy sat up quickly, almost bumping head first into Sam.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, honestly,” Sam said as he raised yielding hands.

Nate looked up at the older boy rubbing his wrists. They weren’t bruised or chafed or anything, but there was an odd tingle spreading through his skin like static.

“All boys Catholic school upbringing... didn’t exactly leave me with the best sense of humour.” Sam chuckled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

Nate looked up at him from where he sat in the older boy’s lap. He was suspicious for a moment, but the way Sam just smiled back down at him, completely nonchalant about the whole situation, put him at ease. He huff out a little laugh.

“It’s not very Catholic of you, breaking into a people’s houses like that,” Nate replied.

“Well, Jesus loves the wicked.” Sam let a smirk curl in the corner of his lip. “Either that or I didn’t ever pay close enough attention during bible study,” he practically purred, shifting a bit on top of Nate to help him sit up more comfortably, one strong hand around the smaller boy’s hips, their legs still entwined.

“So, uh...” Sam shifted awkwardly. “This is kind of nice. Just us guys...”

“What’s happening right now?” Nate wondered aloud.

“I mean... things could be happening...”

“Are you serious?”

“Depends... How old are you?” Sam asked, trying to make the question sound innocent. Better men had tried and failed.

“Jesus Christ...”

“Hey, it’s been a while and I bat for any team that’ll have me.”

Nate shook his head. “You must be the worst robber I’ve ever met,” he said, laughing at Sam’s spluttering reply.

“Well, excuse me! I’m used to the thieving on the high seas. You don’t get many mansions in the middle of the Pacific!”

Nate raised a sceptical brow. “You’re a pirate?” he intoned, sounding vaguely interested.

“Oh yeah! I’m one of the greats! Blackbeard, Cheng, Morgan-” Sam pressed a finger to Nate’s shoulder with a quirky smirk “-Drake. Coolest pirate, by the way.”

Nate laughed. “Drake’s not even my real name.”

“What is it them?”

Nate shrugged, looking away a bit self consciously. “Don’t know. My mom was obsessed with Francis Drake so Drake was just the name she took on so my dad couldn’t find us. I never knew him, but... he was a bad man. She didn’t like talking about him. It- it really made her upset.”

“Bad man, huh.” Sam leaned back against the couch with a huff. “Geez. Sounds like my old man.”

The two of them gave each other identical looks at that.

Then, Sam smiled.

“Hey, we have a lot in common, you and I. Pretty faces, shitty dads. Why don’t we put this whole ‘I broke into your house and you almost shot me’ thing aside.”

“The gun wasn’t even loaded!” Nate snapped back.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“Okay, fine,” Nate huffed. “We’re cool... as long as you’re not still planning to rob me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Nate.”

They smiled at each other and in that moment, both boys seemed to notice the position they were sitting in. Nate was straddling Sam’s lap, so close that their faces were barely a few inches apart. It was with flushed, red cheeks that they detangled from one another.

“So...” Nate cleared his throat. “Why are you going around breaking into houses?” he asked, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room by brining up a different tense subject. “I mean, besides the whole terrible father and upbringing thing.”

Sam let out a heavy breath that signalled for Nate to settle in for an interesting story. “To be honest, I don’t run with what you’d call ‘the best of crowds’. I owe a guy some money and I owe him like yesterday.” Sam looked over at Nate’s worried little face. “And by yesterday, I mean last week.”

“How much do you owe?” Nate asked, genuinely curious.

“Couple hundred dollars. I was working a job with him. Unfortunately, a couple other people were also working the same job, only not with him, or me. They were trying to take our shit is what I’m saying.” Sam nodded to himself at the memory and let out a groan. “Needless to say, we had to make a quick and messy get away. I lost some equipment on the way out... and some of the loot... and I busted up my friend’s bike.”

“Loot? What kind of job was that?”

“Told you I was a pirate.”

Nate cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

Sam laughed. “Let’s call it... Salvage.”

“So...” Nate sighed. “How much do you owe?” he repeated.

“I told you-”

“Give me a dollar amount.”

“Seven hundred.”

Nate stood up slowly. He paced for a moment, then said simply, “Wait here.”

He left the room, much to Sam’s confusion. When he eventually returned, he did so carrying a crisp wad of twenties along with him. They looked like they’d come straight from the bank and there was a plastic strap holding the bills together that read: $1000.

Nate stood before an awestruck Sam, holding the money out in front of himself with a straight and unwavering arm.

“Take it.”

Sam’s eyes widened. His salvation was right in front of him, but he couldn’t just...

“Kid, where did you- No! No way, I’m not taking your money.”

“You were about to steal it earlier.”

Sam tilted his head back and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s unfair.”

“Take it,” Nate repeated, thrusting the cash at him again. “You’ve wondered around this place, you must have noticed that we’ve got money to spare. So take it.”

With polite hesitance, Sam reached out and took the cash in hand. He’d definitely dealt with more money than this before, but he’d never received a thousand bucks honestly. Well, if you can call breaking in to someone house, wrestling them to the ground then somehow forging a bond of friendship “honest”.

Sam pursed his lips and tapped the heavy stack of bills against his palm awkwardly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, ‘thanks’ is usually pretty standard.”

Sam chuckled.

“Thanks, Nate.”

Nate hummed, nodding his head. “Don’t mention it. Although... you really should find better friends.”

“Touché.” Sam laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

The stood together in a companionable silence for a moment. Sam looked Nate up and down, as if trying to memorise him. Nate wasn’t shy, he stared right back with those stunning blue eyes of his.

Sam was just about to say something embarrassing that he’d probably regret when a loud barrage of sound came from the front garden. Sirens whirred noisily outside the house and suddenly the darkened room was lit by the flashing red and blue lights that shone through the windows.

Sam ran up to a nearby curtain and peaked out from behind it.

“You called the cops?!”

He didn’t know what else he’d expected to see, really. A bunch of obnoxious, red and blue fairies?

“Well, yeah! Someone broke into my house!” Nate responded, looking at Sam like he was the crazy one.

“Jesus, and just when I thought we were getting along.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“And what about me?”

“You got in didn’t you?” Nate smirked. “Find your way out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 3 will be coming shortly. This only took a week so (hopefully) it won't take me more than another week or so to finish up! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Your kudos give little Nate a kiss before legging it out a window.  
> Your comments swipe the pirate book on your way.


	2. 20 Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I thought! I really underestimated how much more plot I had mentally planned. I’m going to have a Part 3, because this chapter got really long really fast and... well... 
> 
> [Spoiler Alert] 
> 
> This chapter is basically like... you know how.... in 007 movies, Bond meets Bond Girl™ while spying at some skeevy mafia event and then that night he takes her to heaven and back to win her over... this chapter is kinda like that... 
> 
> [End Spoiler]
> 
> Anyway... the smut is FILTHY. Enjoy!

Sam stood high above the gathered congregation of the world’s richest gunrunners, mafia bosses, thugs and thieves as they milled about the auction like insects waiting to swarm into a bidding frenzy. He scanned the grand ballroom with bored eyes and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Thankfully, the Rossi estate didn’t seem to have any rules against smoking indoors, well, none that were being enforced anyway. No one on staff seemed ready to volunteer to ask any of the gun-wielding, nicotine-addicted thugs gracing their halls to ‘please put out their cigarettes’.

Sam let out a smoky chuckle at the thought.

“Well, someone’s in a good mood.”

Sam turned to see his partner, Rafe Adler, returning from where he’d been taking a call on one of the balconies.

Where Sam felt vaguely restricted in his suit and looked out of place with his unkempt hair and rough features, Rafe Adler was the picture of a man in his element. He smiled that I’m-better-than-you thin lipped smile of his as he brushed imaginary dust off the black lapels of his white suit. He slide an open hand over his slicked-back hair, making sure that not even a single strand was out of place. He looked good for a rich, self-serving prick.

Shame he’s straight, Sam thought to himself.

“It’s a nice party,” he said aloud as he pursed his lips and turned back to the crowd.

Rafe plucked up a glass of champagne from one of the passing waitresses and made his way over to the mezzanine’s railing next to Sam.

“Nice? I’ve been to better,” he said with a shrug. A moment later, he chuckled to himself. “I’ve hosted better honestly,” he bragged, taking a cocky sip of champagne.

Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, Sam side-eyed Rafe. The other man didn’t seem to notice the expression on his face, so Sam spelt it out for him.

“Well,” he drawled. “I must have missed your last party, what with me having been in prison and all.”

“Jesus, how many times-”

“One more never hurts.”

Rafe scoffed. “I got you out, didn’t I?”

“Sure, sure... Fifteen years later.”

They’d gone over this a thousand times. While trying to research the biggest pirate treasure find in history, they purposely got themselves locked up in a particular Panamanian prison so that it would be easier to search the attached historical prison grounds for clues unnoticed.

During their imprisonment, Rafe might have gotten a bit too hands on with their liaison among the guarding staff. There might have been a struggle involving a gun, shots might have been fired and their guard might have ended up dead, and during their escape Sam might have been shot.

Rafe might have left Sam behind after, but his memory of events was a bit foggy.

Honestly, he thought Sam was dead.

“It’s all in the past. Now think of the future!” Rafe wrapped one strong arm around Sam’s shoulder, shaking him excitedly. He spoke animatedly, but his voice was hushed, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Think of all that treasure we’re going to find! Think of the discovery!”

 _Like you need the money_ , Sam thought, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He too was excited about finally getting to continue the hunt for Captain Avery’s lost treasure, that was the whole purpose behind taking up with Rafe in the first place. Still, all the things Rafe did to get what he wanted, his egocentric narcissism, the destruction, the killing... Sam didn’t particularly love the man’s style.

“So, tell me again why you don’t wanna be seen purchasing the damn thing,” Sam asked, changing the subject. He smirked, waving the number 39 paddle he’d been given listlessly.

Rafe rolled his eyes. “I told you, I have a reputation to maintain,” he replied, taking a sip from the champagne flute he’d be nursing for the rest of the evening.

“Right, you’re a real explorer,” Sam huffed. “Not some chump who buys his trinkets at black market auctions.”

“Exactly.” Rafe’s brows raised slightly to show that recognized the sarcasm but was choosing to ignore it. “And what are you?” he continued, cocking his head to one side.

Sam took another drag, exhaled, and wrinkled his brow thoughtfully.

“A shameful opportunist apparently.”

Rafe chuckled. “Most of the Shoreline guys prefer ‘mercenary’, but sure. You’re the man who’s going to win this bid for me.”

“You know, Rafe-” Sam smirked “-I do love spending a rich boy’s money.”

Rafe groaned, because yes, he knew. It had taken quite a bit of money to get Sam out of that shitty segregated part of the Panamanian prison he’d ended up in. Pocket change to Rafe, but still, Sam cost him quite a bit of pocket change.

Rafe was considering reminding Sam of that fact for the umpteenth time, when he noticed Sam’s gaze shift subtly over to the other end of the room. Rafe knew immediately what had caught the man’s eye; he knew his partner’s tastes. There were a few particularly handsome men, swanning around the auction hall in their fitted formal attire, but Sam was dead focused on a particular young man all the way across the hall. Muscular, tan, cropped hair, blue eyes, just Sam’s type.

“See something you like?” Rafe purred with his lips pulled into a smirk. “Or should I say, someone?”

Sam blinked. He couldn’t see details very well from where they were standing up on the high balcony, overlooking the grand hall below, but someone was drawing his eye across the room. He swore he’d seen a familiar face. He just couldn’t pinpoint... why?

Sam looked away and shrugged. “Thought I’d recognized someone.”

“Well, that old swindler, ex-partner of yours is here,” Rafe huffed, leaning over the balcony to glare down at the man.

Sam looked back down towards the crowd below. Victor Sullivan was indeed down there amongst the criminals and cons. Sam almost didn’t recognize him with wrinkled skin and hair that had washed-out to a stark grey in the years since they’d last met. His presence was a bit surprising; Sully didn’t usually mingle too closely with this particular class of the criminal underworld. Still, the old man was dressed to fit right in. His black tux was pressed and the expensive cigar he was smoking hung nonchalantly between his thick fingers.

“You know I don’t go for older men,” Sam replied with a cheeky wink.

“What about him back there?” Rafe nodded back across the room. “Wasn’t that the guy you recognized? He’s your type, maybe you met him before, huh? Definitely the best looking in this crowd of thugs.”

Sam looked over, again drawn to that same familiar face. Where did he know this guy from? He couldn’t quite place the man.

Sam shook his head and turned back to Rafe. “You think your girlfriend would be happy hearing you’ve been perusing the crowd?”

“Who’s perusing?”

“Speak of the devil,” Sam muttered.

Nadine Ross approached. She was an intimidating woman, especially in stilettos that were obviously killing her feet. Yes, her curls had been styled to perfection and her silk jumpsuit was on point, but she was so uncomfortable that she looked about ready to fight every man in that room.

“Haha,” Nadine laughed sardonically. “The auction is starting in five minutes. I though you two might like to know since we did come all this way for a reason.”

Sam shot Rafe a smile. “I guess I’d better get to work spending your money then,” he said as he waved his numbered paddle in mock salute.

Both Nadine and Rafe rolled their eyes before following behind him down the stairs and into the grand ballroom. Rafe stopped to say a few words to Victor Sullivan, since the old con’s presence at the event was suspicious to say the least. Sam was just passing them when Rafe abruptly snapped letting out a burst of the rage that seemed to be constantly boiling up under his skin. Nadine calmed him down just in time to save face.

Sam raised a knowing brow at Sully who shook his head in return.

Focused on the auction now, Sam made his way into place near the stage. He wanted to be in the auctioneer’s direct eyeline since Rafe would probably _literally_ kill him if the auctioneer missed seeing his bid.

As if waiting for him to take his mark to start, the auctioneer tapper her gavel against its wooden pedestal to announce the beginning of the auction. The room settled down, though people were still chatting away. Many were discussing the items currently up for bid and the fact that they weren’t supposed to be up for another hour. It seemed, the order of items had been reformatted since they’d printed the night’s lists.

“I wonder why,” one man murmured, more to himself than to the mildly intoxicated woman he was with.

“Maybe they realized they should get rid of the cheap crap first,” the woman tittered as she held her cup out for sommelier to refill a third time. “I mean, I can tell from here, that cross may be an antique, but during its time it was just some cheap indulgence.”

“Still, it doesn’t seem fair,” another man chimed in beside them. “What if someone arrives late and misses their bid.”

That was sort of the point. Sam huffed out a muted laugh as he passed them on his way to the front of the auction hall. They all had Rafe to blame for the odd turn of affairs, but he’d keep that information to himself.

Sam stood with hands clasped in front of his body, paddle ready. All his attention was on the prize sitting not three feet away on the auction table.

The cross of Saint Gestas. An artefact that Sam suspected would be their key to discovering the whereabouts of Henry Avery’s grave and the largest pirate treasure trove on the face of the earth. With that cross, and whatever was hidden within it, they’d be one step closer to finding their trove.

“The bidding will start at twenty thousand Euro,” the auctioneer announced.

Hardly a pittance compared to what they’d be walking away with.

Sam raised his paddle.

 

 

There were a few people bidding on the cross at first, but as the bid reached double the original price, people started dropping off. Besides Sam, the only one remaining was Victor Sullivan.

Despite the threats Rafe had dealt his way, Sully wasn’t stepping down. Each time Sam raised his paddle, Sully raised his own in turn, ignoring the steely glare Rafe was shooting from just over Sam’s shoulder.

Sully was still going against them when the bid got to one hundred thousand euros. Sam looked back at Rafe, but he only gestured to keep going.

Sam creased his brow, but raised his paddle anyway. The price was getting steep. It would have been easier to just steal the damn thing. Still, orders were orders, so Sam brought the price up another ten thousand.

This was quickly raised as Sully countered his bid, his paddle thrust into the air with the confidence of a self made millionaire.

“Seriously? Jeez, old man, where did you get this kind of cash?” Sam wondered to himself, casting a quick glance towards Sully. Sully didn’t return his gaze, but that didn’t matter because Sam was quickly distracted.

Just over Sully’s shoulder, Sam noticed the man he’d seen before from the mezzanine. He was leaning against one of the ballroom’s large marble pillars as he spoke casually with the sommelier. Unfortunately, his back was to Sam.

“That brings us to two hundred thousand euros. Anymore bids?”

“Sam.” Rafe’s call fell on deaf ears; Sam’s mind was elsewhere.

The man across the hall turned around to see what was going on. His familiar blue eyes caught the light glimmering off the ice sculpture in the centre of the room and, yes, Sam knew those eyes. He knew this man. His features had matured, but they were still filled with a boyish charm that Sam remembered being so entranced by twenty years ago.

Sam’s memory snapped into place with a click on the trigger old western revolver.

But, there was no way... it couldn’t be...

“Final bids, ladies and gentlemen?”

“Sam, what-!”

“Alright, sold! For two hundred thousand euros to Number 64.”

The heavy sound of the gavel hitting its wooden block, knocked Sam out of his daze.

“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered to himself, eyes suddenly on the auctioneer who was smiling across the room. He followed her gaze to Sully who took his cigar from between his lips and raised it towards her with a cocky grin.

“What the fuck, Sam!” Rafe hissed, grabbing Sam by the lapels and pulling him down the few inches for them to be at eye level.

“Shit,” Sam ran one hand through his hair, frantically looking between a grinning Victor Sullivan and a furious Rafe Adler. “Ah, sorry.”

“Sorry?!” Rafe spluttered like a rabid dog. “Where the hell was your brain?!”

Sam’s gaze shifted back across the room. The man he’d recognized from before was watching the goings on with a mix of worry and amused interest. When he saw Sam his brow creased. Seconds later, his blue eyes widened.

Sam quickly turned back to Rafe.

“I got distracted,” he admitted without giving his distraction away completely.

No lies. It was simple as that.

Still, Rafe looked across the room and he knew. Shaking his head in disbelief, he released Sam and stormed off towards Sully. He could deal with Sam later. Right now, he needed that cross.

Rafe’s laboriously tempered voice iterated curt congratulations that were quickly followed by harsh demands while Sully just chuckled and replied with something along the lines of ‘Fair’s fair, kid.’

But Sam was hardly paying attention to that. His eyes were once more fixed on the well-chiselled man walking through the crowd towards him.

“Sam Morgan?” he said as he approached.

Sam liked to imagine that that came out like a moan. He smiled in response.

“Nathan Drake,” he replied.

Nate beamed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wow, how long has it been? Twenty years?”

“Hard to believe.” Sam nodded. “I almost didn’t recognize you without all that hair of yours.”

Nate snorted out a laugh. “Well, I hardly recognized you. Did you age forty years in twenty?”

Sam sucked in a breath. He looked up, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know. Fifteen years in a Panamanian prison will do that too you.”

“Shit,” Nate hissed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I heard... I remember some of my contacts talking, but I didn’t know that was you. I didn’t mean-“

The handsome smile that split Sam’s lips was enough to cut Nate off.

“What?” Nate asked his brow creasing.

“I’m totally over it,” Sam said. He wasn't totally over it. He didn’t want to talk about prison. He wanted to talk about Nate... or literally anything else.

Nate realized this quickly and cleared his throat. Jesus, of course Sam didn’t want to talk about how he’d spent half his life in prison.

“I just meant,” Nate continued, ignoring the teasing smile, “I’d noticed you walking around before, but I didn’t recognize you until I caught you staring at me just now.”

Sam winked at him as he fished a box from his pocket.

“You smoke?”

Nate made a sound that Sam took as a definitive ‘No.’

Shrugging, Sam casually pulled out a cigarette from his pack with his lips before exchanging the box for his lighter.

“I recognized you right away,” he told Nate, lips curling around the butt of his cigarette.

Nate actually felt his cheeks heat up, and then get hotter because he was embarrassed that he was blushing.

“Liar,” he said. “Last time you met me, I was fifteen.”

“No, I’m serious,” Sam continued with a sigh. “It’s probably because I was thrown in prison a few years after we met. You have changed... a lot... but you and Rafe are the last friendly faces I remember to be honest.”

“Rafe Adler,” Nate hummed. His gaze shifted, taking in the scene going on in front of the auction stage. He wouldn’t exactly describe the way Rafe’s face was scrunched up with rage as friendly.

“I’ve run in with him a few times. Quite the character.” Nate turned his eyes on Sam one more, looking up at him through lowered lashes. “I see you didn't take my advice about making better friends. My contacts suggested that he’s the reason you were in prison all those years.”

Sam took a long drag on his cigarette as he looked back over his shoulder. Rafe was livid, his hair falling out of its coif in a few places as he hissed at Sully. The old man chewed on the end of his cigar with an amused eyebrow raised high.

Sam let out a smoky sigh and shrugged.

“What can I say, the guy busted me out eventually. I owe him one.”

Nathan hummed, his eyes looking over Sam’s face, analysing him, how he’d aged, how handsome he’d become.

“Did you get the tattoo in prison?”

Sam sucked in a breath. He wasn't expecting Nate to reach out and trace a finger along the silhouetted flight path of the fading tattoo along his neck. A shiver ran through him at the sensation and pressure built low in his abdomen.

Clearing his throat, Sam leaned away from Nate. He rubbed his hand over that place, dulling the burning sensation that he hadn’t excepted the other man’s touch to leave across his skin.

“Yeah. You know how it is. Prison tats.” Sam stuttered.

“I like it.” Nate bit his bottom lip, just staring at Sam. His eyes darkened, but then he seemed to catch sight of something over Sam’s shoulder.

Nate sighed and looked down at his watch.

“I have to get going. It was nice seeing you again, Sam,” he said curtly. “I’ll catch you around?”

“Wait? You're leaving?” Sam felt something inside him twinge, driving him to keep Nathan. Make him stay. But the only reasonable protest he could spit out off the top of his head was:

“But the auctions only just started.”

“Oh, I got what I came for.” With a chuckle and a wink, Nate sauntered away. Sam’s gaze followed the trim line of his figure as he left. Even though he was a little upset by Nate’s sudden departure, it didn’t stop him from letting his eyes drop to the firm curve of Nate’s ass, perfectly flaunted by the cut of his trousers.

Sam licked his lips, suddenly parched.

Nate already got what he wanted.

Sam shook his head. He didn't understand what that meant until he turned back to where Rafe had transferred his seething temper from Sully onto Nadine.

Sam noticed Sully walking away from them. The old man peaked over at him and Sam met his cool, grey gaze. Sully seemed wary of him, more so than usual. The expression on his face was one Sam had seen far too often in the eyes of the priest back at the orphanage whenever play got a bit to rough between the boys.

Quickly, Sully’s gaze traveled past Sam and over to where Nate could still be seen near the door at the end of the hall, waiting for a valet to pull his car around.

The old man smirked around the end of his cigar before he wandered off to collect his prize.

“Well, I'll be damned.”

They’d been had. This realization dawned on Sam as he turned back to watch Nate take his keys from the driver and disappear down the stairs towards his car.

Shaking his head, he was just about to take a long slow drag on his cigarette, the type he usually reserved for a post-coital smoke, when Rafe came up behind him.

There was a dull thud. Sam nearly coughed up a lung when Rafe’s hand landed solidly on his shoulder.

“Since this is your god damn fault,” Rafe hissed directly into his ear, “you are going to do whatever it takes to get that me cross.”

Sam took the threat in stride. He knew about Drake and Sullivan and that already put him one step ahead of Rafe.

Sam’s lips curled into a smile as he lifted Rafe’s hand delicately off of his shoulder.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Rafe,” he drawled, much to Rafe’s obvious distain. Before the man could bark at him again, Sam continued, “I know exactly where our jerk thief, Saint Gestas, is headed. And once I steal him back, you’ll be glad you didn’t even have to give up two hundred K.”

“Then what are your waiting for? Go get him!” That was Rafe’s final order. He left, blowing through the crowd towards the valet like a furious whirlwind. Without a word to Sam, Nadine followed behind at her own leisurely pace.

Sam watched them leave, finally taking that nice long drag on his cigarette. He savoured it and exhaled, smiling to himself.

_Go get him? Oh, I plan to._

 

Nathan Drake wasn’t a hard man to find. Then again, he wasn’t exactly hiding when he drove his rented Maserati up to the four star hotel he’d chosen to stay at.

Sam stared up at the building, marvelling at the ancient Italian architecture. He let out a low wolf whistle. The hotel had been a Palazzo in the past. Once frequented by Italian nobility, now it was filled with rich foreign tourists.

Sam had no trouble getting Nate’s room number off the naïve receptionist. I wasn’t hard for Sam to convince her that he was related to the other scruffy brunette American she’d met earlier.

Stopping just outside Nate’s door, Sam checked the halls before knocking quietly.

When the door opened, Nate appeared in the threshold looking like a walking wet dream. He was naked with only a towel wrapped tight around his waist, damp and clinging to his muscular thighs and the flaccid bulge of his cock. His hair dark and dripping from the shower.

Nate peered out at Sam, a bit taken aback for a moment. This surprised expression quickly made way for a seductive smile.

“I didn’t order any room service,” Nate purred, sounding far too much like a poorly written porn script.

Sam grinned, wanting to play a part. He cleared his throat and casually leaned against the wall outside the door.

“It’s complimentary. Can I come in?”

Nate pretended to think about it for a second before he backed away from the door, stepping into his room without opening any further or closing it. This left Sam to push his way in, quietly closing the door behind him. He followed Nate into the spacious hotel room that felt more like a luxury apartment.

“So, you work for Coastline now, huh?” Nate asked with an audible sneer as he made his way over to the wardrobe.

It was obvious then that their little charade had played itself out.

“Shoreline,” Sam corrected with a sly smile. “I work for Rafe, and Rafe has partnered up Nadine, and Nadine owns Shoreline.”

“Sounds incestuous.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam said. His voice dipped low as he watched Nate toss his towel aside.

Nate was completely indifferent to his own nakedness before plucking one of the hotel’s plush bathrobes from the wardrobe and shrugging it on. Looking back over his shoulder as he tied the robe, he caught a glimpse of Sam’s half lidded gaze and chuckled.

“I suppose you’re here to steal Saint Gestas’ cross from me.”

“I brought black leather gloves and everything,” Sam intoned, the sarcasm sounding automatic as he kept his gaze glued on the place where Nathan’s naked ass had been only seconds before.

Nate crossed his arms over his chest and sighed dramatically. “Too bad it’s already with Sullivan on a plane back over the Atlantic.”

“Damn.” Sam swayed in close Nate, his lips pursed into a feigned pout. He bit his bottom lip, looking Nate up and down. “Seems like I’ve wasted my time coming here then, haven’t I.”

“Seems like it. Now what are you going to do?” Nate grinned mischievously and Sam found his eyes drawn to the cocky tilt of his lips.

“Well, since you’re here for the taking-”

Before he could finish, Nate cut him off, letting out a burst out laughter. “Dear god, I can’t believe-“ he held his chest, doubling over. “Twenty years and you’re still using that line?”

“It’s a good line.” Sam lowered his head and huffed, an amused sound that came out around his smile.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“I’d say I’ve gotten bigger.”

Nate’s laughter didn’t die down. “I haven’t seen your dick so I wouldn’t exactly say I have a good comparison for deciding if it’s ‘bigger’.”

“Who said I was talking about my dick?”

Nate huffed out a final snort through his nose.

Sam raised a brow. “So you thought about it then?”

Nate rolled his eyes, but Sam knew.

He chuckled. “Bigger. You’ll have to take my word.”

“The word of a thief? Hm.” Nate hummed, contemplative as he sat and leaned back on his elbows against the bed. The bathrobe spread open, displaying a deep ‘V’ down the toned centre of his chest. “I’d rather you show than tell.”

Sam grinned. Never one for shyness, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and let it fall to the floor. Next he unbuttoned his cufflinks.

“Were you expecting me to follow you?” He asked as he pulled off his bowtie and slowly worked open the buttons on his dress shirt. “Is that why you didn’t leave with Sullivan?”

Nate didn’t answer, but the way he closed his eyes and wet his lips said all Sam needed to know.

Stripping off his shirt, Sam bared the long trim line of his torso. His hands lowered, dipping across his abdomen as he stepped forward closer to where Nate sat on the edge of the bed. He gazed down at Nate with dropped lids and heavy lashes. His hands rested on the fitted waistline of his trousers.

Only Nate’s eyes weren’t on his hands.

Nate leaned forward and ran his fingers down across Sam’s skin, grazing over the old scars in his side. Three thick holes filled with scar tissue dotted Sam’s lower abdomen.

“What happened here?” he asked as he caressed the three tell-tale spots of raised skin.

Sam looked down his face shifting as if he’d forgotten. He looked away self-consciously, sighing as he answered, “Got shot trying to get out of prison, that’s why Rafe left me behind.”

“Shit,” Nate murmured, still fingering the old bullet wounds.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact with Sam, Nate leaned forward and licked a smooth path between the marks causing a shudder to pass over Sam’s skin beneath his tongue.

“It is kind of hot,” he murmured, lips grazing Sam’s skin with every word.

Sam let out a husky chuckle. “Yeah?”

“I love a man with a few good scars.”

“Well, I’ve shown you mine, so why don’t you-“ Sam leaned over Nate and slowly ran his hands over his shoulders, brushing aside the bathrobe as he touched bare skin. “-show me yours.”

“Fuck.”

The soft, white fabric slipped further down revealing more of Nate’s impressive body; a ripe, sinewy torso led down to a trim waist. He had the build of a man who’d lived a life of danger and adventure, if the dozens of international articles about Drake were true. His tanned skin was stripped with light scaring, no doubt from various run ins with the likes of Shoreline.

Nate shifted and the thick robe pooled between his legs. Slowly, at a teasing pace, he inched away from Sam back towards the headboard before laying down against the plush blankets. With deft fingers, Nate plucked apart the loose knotted tie at his waist and, as the last of the fabric fell away, he tilted his head, raising a coy eyebrow at Sam.

Sam groaned accepting this invitation. He was quick with the fastening on his dress pants and the expensive leather shoes Rafe had forced on him. He kicked them off to some godforsaken corner of the hotel room before letting the trousers fall carelessly to the floor. Sam hadn’t paid for the bespoke suit after all and he probably wasn’t ever going to wear it again.

As he crawled onto the bed, Sam watched Nate’s chest rise and fall as his own shuddered with the beating of his heart. He kneeled above the younger man, wetting his lips in anticipation.

Nate craned up to catch Sam’s lips in a kiss. Sam returned it with a passionate inhale. He parted his lips, breathing Nate into the wet heat of his mouth. Bringing a hand to Nate’s neck, he carded his fingers through short brunette hair, massaging the base of Nate’s skull as their kiss deepened.

Sam released Nate, only to rest his forehead against the brow of this man that fate had tied him to. Sam almost couldn’t believe what was happening. Then again, he definitely felt a little entitled since fate hadn’t been kind to him for the past twenty years.

Sam embraced Nate, letting the full weight of his body sink down onto the younger man. He rocked their naked hips together, slipping his hands beneath that pert ass he’d been admiring before. He pulled Nate’s cheeks apart and squeezed, forcing his pelvis up, closer.

Nate let out a hot gasp again Sam’s neck. He kissed a wet path along his collar bone and up his throat, one kiss for each bird that flew in a tattooed arch across his skin.

Sam moaned.

They rolled onto their sides, their bodies tangled and legs entwined just like that night all those years ago. Sam reached between them with one hand and held their cocks together while he continued playing with Nate’s pert behind.

Nate leaned up to kiss him again, groaning into his mouth, squeezing Sam’s chest, fingering his nipples as they moved their hips together. They rolled with the waves of pleasure that crashed over them again and again.

Nate’s hands traveled down Sam’s chest, over his scars in a ‘V’ until he reached the man’s hand, tight around their cocks.

Their lips parted, wet and reddened.

Sam’s hand moved so Nate could take over. The younger man gripped his cock, slowly drawing his hand along the erect flesh, palming the wet head until Sam was leaking onto his hand.

“It is big,” Nate admitted to himself.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed lustily. “Think you can take it, baby?”

Nate would have laughed if he wasn’t so horny. He could only close his eyes and let out an agonized moan.

“Stop talking.”

With a chuckle, Sam rolled onto his back, pulling Nate into his lap as he went. He took Nate’s hips in both hands and rocked him forward and back, their cocks pressed beneath the weight of his body. The friction of his cock sliding between Nate’s spread thighs was almost too intense. Sam gripped Nate’s ass with white knuckled fingers to slow him down.

With both hands plastered to Sam’s heaving chest, Nate rode him at a slow, even pace. His hips rolled forward and back, sliding their thick cocks smoothly along the concave in the muscle of Sam’s abdomen.

Sam thanked god for fancy hotel’s that thought deeply about the nightly needs of their clientele, as he riffled through the nearest bedside table drawer he could reach in search of lube.

Moments later, Nate felt a cold, wet line drizzling down the base of his spine, between his cheeks. Sam’s fingertips followed the line, pressing teasingly over his hole in passing. He rubbed that place again and again with the thick pads of his fingers, pressing in only enough to make Nate’s body ache and grasp for pleasure.

Nathan’s sliding, now slicked with lube, grew faster and faster as he was stimulated from both ends. He was panting for air, about to come when Sam suddenly stopped, only long enough to flip Nate over onto his back.

Sam was heavy between his legs, the weight above him had Nate moaning and arching his body into the hot sensation that was pressing him down into the plush mattress. He grit his teeth as Sam’s fingers finally worked inside him, moving in and out, in and out until Nate couldn’t help but plant his feet and lift his hips off the bed to meet each thrust.

He rode the feeling as they kissed, nipping at each other’s lips, consuming each other as Sam fucked Nate on his fingers mercilessly. Their lips only parted when Nate couldn’t take anymore. He fisted a hand in Sam’s hair and tugged him gently back.

“Fuck,” he hissed, still rocking his body back into the press of Sam’s fingers. “I’m ready. I’m ready. Just fuck me.”

Sam caught those stammering lips in his and pulled his fingers free. He broke the kiss and moved back slightly, looking down at Nate with his cock in one hand. He stroked himself while staring at the younger man, taking in the flush of arousal painting his skin red, the way his body gleamed in the lowlight with lube and sweat.

Sam pressed the head of his cock to Nate’s ripe hole, pressing into him only to pull back and tap the head against wet skin, filling the room with the most perverse noises. He teased Nate a while longer, enjoying the frustrated whines the other man would let out each time Sam ran his cock back and forth over his now twitching hole.

Finally, Sam pressed inside, letting the crown of his flesh sink into Nate before sliding the rest inside, inch by steady inch.

Nate pressed his forearm over his eyes, his hands clenched into fists as he tried to stop himself from coming just at the sensation of being entered, filled by Sam’s swollen cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Sam whispered into his ear. “Knew you could take it. You feel so fucking good.”

Nate sucked in a breath, his hand coming up to touch Sam’s scarred side, to stop him from moving for a moment.

“If you keep talking like that I’m-“ Nate only swallowed, unable to finish as a breathless moan took over his voice.

Sam’s breathy chuckle didn’t help the situation.

Sam’s hips rolled into him fluidly, his hips and ass clenching with each deep thrust. Nate wished he could spread his legs wider, fit his body closer, but they already fit together so sinfully well.

Nate couldn’t touch himself. He knew the moment he even put a finger on his cock he would explode. The sensation Sam was giving him was enough to push him there already. He climbed closer and closer, higher and higher with each thrust Sam sunk deep into his body.

Sam leaned across Nate’s body, drawing his tongue up the centre of the other man’s pecks before gently placing his teeth around one hard nipple then the other until he felt Nate’s hands clawing at the back of his neck to keep him close.

“Let me try something,” Sam whispered, looking up at him from where a string of saliva was still attaching him to Nate’s nipple.

Sam’s heavy cock slipped wetly from Nate tearing a groan from his lips. He was hardly in a state of mind to argue. His blood was rushing so hard he would have done anything Sam asked to get that cock back inside him.

Sam rolled Nate onto his font and lifted him up and back by his hips, drawing him into a kneeling position with his ass raised, head still rag-dolling down against the sheets.

Sam pressed his thumbs to Nate’s cheeks, spreading them wide, causing the man beneath him to groan at the sensation of cool air on the most heated part of his body. Sam moved high onto his knees and dipped his cock into Nate once, twice, before thrusting forward in one solid thrust.

Sam fucked into Nate hard on his hands and knees. He gripped Nate’s tanned skin tanned skin, leaving white finger prints in his wake. Strong, rough hands moved on moved along slowly to assault the rest of Nate’s body with pleasure only Sam could give him.

Nate pressed his cheek to the bed, gasping for air that had grown moist with his panting breaths. The new position took him to his peak so suddenly that he found himself reaching back to grip Sam’s muscled thighs, unsure if he needed the man to stop or keep going because it honestly felt like everything inside him had exploded.

Nate shuddered violently as he came, wetness splashing from his swinging cock all along his stomach and up his chest. Blood rushed through him as his body throbbed and, inside, he could feel Sam twitching, aching for the same release he’d given.

Sam thrust harder, drawing everything he had in and out of Nate, arching over his spent body and rolling his hips wildly like a rutting animal until he felt that sudden overwhelming wash of pleasure flood his mind tuning out everything except for the hot, wet place where their bodies met.

The fell out of each other’s arms, heated bodies collapsing back against the cool sheets, panting. They rolled together once more, breathing into each other. Their lips only parted so they could embrace and lay kisses against each other’s necks. In the culmination of it all, a kiss was everything, the world, broken apart, coming back together.

 

 

When Sam woke early the next morning, he knew he had to leave. Without waking Nathan, he collected his things and put back on the wrinkly, soiled remains of his designer suit. With that he left. There was no need to say goodbye because he knew they would be seeing each other again.

He knew because a cunning plan was already starting to come together in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing tip: Slip a Black Adder reference in for no reason... lol
> 
> Part 3 coming soon! I broke it up into 3 parts because, omg this chapter was LONG and next chapter will probably be similar. Anyway! See you soon <3
> 
> You kudos make Sam rethink leaving and go back for seconds ;)  
> Your comments iron the creases out of that bespoke suit before Rafe sees it and literally kills someone


	3. The End of the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter~ Some angst, some porn... a lot of smoking. God damn it, Sam, why you smoke so much? I also didn't read through it a 3rd time like I usually do HAHA so if it's not PERFECT that's why
> 
> Anyway... thanks for sticking with me you guys! Here it is! You're final instalment of 'A Different Life'.
> 
> ENJOY~!

Sam walked down the cobblestone streets lit only by antique lamps, their dimming bulbs flickering behind decorative glass casings. The strip of fabric that had once been a bow tie hung loose around his neck, dangling over the dress shirt that he hadn't bothered to button properly.

He paused to light up a cigarette. The long slow drag he took and held somehow prolonged his blissful, post-orgasmic mood. With a smoky exhale, he continued on his way with a proverbial skip in his step, heading down the quaint Italian streets towards Rafe’s private villa.

Sam negligently flicked the stub of his cigarette onto the paved driveway as he approached the villa. He entered the main house without knocking, but perhaps he should have. As soon as he stepped through the front door, there was not one, but two semi-automatics right in his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam hissed into the gun barrels, jerking back against the door that had just closed behind him.

“Alright boys,” Nadine intoned. Her voice carried easily from whatever part of the house she was in. It was obvious that she’s been waiting for him.

She stepped into the front hall and sauntered towards Sam. Her brow quirked.

“No need to shoot the messenger... unless he comes baring bad news.”

The Shoreline thugs lowered their weapons and backed away.

Sam closed his eyes. He was about to sigh...  
“Well, where is it?”

...instead, he cringed.

Sam hesitantly opened his eyes again to see Rafe standing before him. The man’s face was dark, his hollow eyes narrow and enraged.

“Well, someone didn’t get their beauty sleep,” Sam commented caustically.

Rafe’s head turned, like a hawk curiously eyeing prey.

“Where. Is. It?” he repeated, without blinking.

Sam pushed off from where he was leaned against the door and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I know where Sullivan got the money, Nathan Drake.”

“I don’t care. What about my cross?”

“Drake didn’t have it,” Sam admitted, “Sullivan’s long gone”

“Well, if he didn’t have it what took you so long?!”

Sam faltered, his mouth making a barrage of flustered noises until finally he came up with:

“Sightseeing?”

Nadine looked him up and down, taking in his dishevelled appearance before slowly raising one eyebrow.

Does Rafe even need to ask? She wondered in that moment if her partner had gone insane or if he was just partially blind. Anyone could tell where Sam had been. He was dressed like a spoiled ivy leaguer who’d just spent his birthday money at a high-end brothel.

Rafe threw his hands in the air and walked away. “We need to get after Victor Sullivan! Find out where he’s going! I want to be on his ass tonight!” he shouted, barking orders at no one in particular, just assuming that the men closest to him would hear and do his bidding.

“Unfortunate phrasing,” Sam muttered as he started fishing for his lighter and cigarettes. He thumb caught against flint wheel of his lighter, flicking it again and again but the damn thing wouldn’t start.

“He’s a handsome man isn’t he?”

Sam had just got a flame, when Nadine asked this. The little flicker died immediately. Shit... wasn’t she supposed to follow Rafe around like a good little lapdog.

Sam turned to her, moving like a statue on a turnstile.

“Ah, handsome? Sully?” he asked, with the widest most innocent gaze he could muster. The look he got in return from Nadine’s deadpan, black eyes told him his acting skills needed some work.

“Nathan Drake,” Nadine drawled calmly, as if that she was simply reminding him of something he’d forgotten.

“Oh, ri-” Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Nadine hardly even let him start.

“If you _ever_ do something like this again...” she hissed. Stopping suddenly, she snatched the cigarette from his fingers and snapped it in half, throwing the two bits on the floor before crushing them under her boot. The rest was left unsaid.

Sam watched on silently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, after a while. He was regressing back to that boy from the orphanage, hoping Nadine would eventually just give in to his terrible act and ignore him like the nuns all used to.

His hope died young. Nadine’s deadpan eyes stared right through him. She thankfully didn’t say anything more, but her dark expression spoke for her. Spinning on her heel, she marched away, following after Rafe.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam retrieved another cigarette and brought his lighter back up to it as he wondered through to the other end of the villa. Outside on the back veranda, he let his elbows rest down heavily on the stone railing as he stared out across the open water.

He let out a breath, smoke pouring from his lips and clouding his face. With his eyes closed, he didn’t mind the cancerous heat of it seeping over his skin. He welcomed it, soaking it in.

_I’ve gotta get the fuck out of here._

A low buzz vibrating against his hip pulled him out of his abysmal thoughts.

Sam jerked forward, reaching back in surprise. He’d completely forgotten about the thin slab of metal radio thing Rafe had given him. What was it called? A smartphone?

Stamping out the remains of his cigarette, Sam reached into his back pocket and pulled out the phone. The screen was lit up, but it read simply: number unknown.

Sam sighed. Of course it was.

“Hello?” He bit out, upset as having been distracted from his self-pitying descent into misery.

“Hello, is that Samuel Morgan?” a shaky aged voice asked from the other end of the line.

“That depends, who’s asking?”

“Ah, it must be you Samuel.” The old man on the other line chuckled. “Hello, my boy. This is Father Ryan Duffy, from Saint Francis’ Boy’s Home. Do you remember me?”

Sam came out of his slouch with a jolt, standing upright. He pulled the phone away from his ear, looking down at it like it was possessed.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Uh, wow. How did you get this number?” he asked, once he’d placed the phone back to his ear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, the nuns did a little snooping I’m afraid. We received this number from information you gave during your last hospital visit. The doctor said you had pieces of bullets left inside you? I was very sorry to hear that, my boy.”

Sam let out a sigh and smiled. Despite everything, Father Duffy had always been a kind sort.

“Doctors aren’t supposed to tell you things like that,” he noted, sounding more amused than pissed off.

“Oh, it was all in confidence. I am a priest after all.”

Sam swore he could heard the old man smiling from the other end of the line.

“Well, what can I do for you your holiness?”

“Ah,” Father Duffy’s voice suddenly took on a different tone. It was almost as if he regretted the lightness with which their conversation had started. “I have some sad news, I’m afraid. Your father has rather unfortunately passed away.”

Sam stopped breathing.

“He may have left you to the care of the state, but in the end, he willed you everything that he owned. His property was unfortunately seized, he was in terrible debt, as I understand, but all of his smaller belongings were brought here to the home to be passed along to you.”

...

“Samuel?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing his mind back into the present. “His stuff. Sure. I’ll come pick it up. I’m, ah, out of town right now.”

_...Get out of here._

“Is next week good?”

“Of course, no rush. We’ll keep it here for as long as you need, my boy.”

“Thanks.”

“Ah, Samuel?”

“Yes, Father?” Sam replied automatically, cringing at the way he slipped back into childhood speech patterns so easily when talking to the old priest.

“While I have you here, will you tell me... all those years ago, why did you decide to run away? Did something happen?”

Sam was silent for a moment. He rubbed his palm over the birds that flew across his neck and sighed.

“I’ll save it for confession.”

 

 

It was almost midnight. Nate lay in bed staring up at a familiar ceiling. His bleary jet-lagged gaze traced the lines of the coffers, following them to where they circled around the light fixture that hung over his bed.

After his night with Sam, he’d returned straight home, back to the house he grew up in and now owned.

His night with Sam... God, what was he thinking.

Nate was barely able to keep a straight face when Sully met him at the airport, demanding to know what had taken him so long. Sully, having his own means of aerial transport, had left as soon as he’d obtained the cross from the auctioneers, fleeing before Shoreline could even start hatching a plan to steal the artefact. He’d been expecting Nate to be on an evening flight out of Italy as soon as the auction ended. That hadn’t exactly gone according to plan.

Once Sam entered the picture, Nate found himself with his cellphone in hand, rebooking the plane ticket from the Rossi Estate’s front driveway.

Nate let his eyes fall closed as he thought back to that. Sam was fucking perfect: the way he’d let his weight settle between Nate’s thighs, the way he rolled his hips, the way he felt buried deep inside, the way his lips moved, his caress, his rough skin, the guttural sounds he made as he came... fuck.

Nate bit his lip. His fingers slipped down beneath the sheets, between his legs, teasing over the skin of his thighs as he grew hard between them. He cupped himself through his boxers and groaned.

A small shuffling sound came from another part of the house, tearing Nate from his erotic reverie.

Nate jerked up out of bed, eyes fixed on his bedroom door. The large, empty mansion was always deathly quiet, so he knew immediately that something wasn’t right. The quiet sounds were coming from just outside and down below in the front hall.

The old wooden floor boards creaked under the weight of a stranger’s footsteps.

Shoreline. They’d finally caught up with him.

Nate climbed out of bed and tiptoed towards the door. He opened it slowly and moved out into the hall. He could see a shadow being cast by the moonlight streaming though the office window. The shadow was moving, silhouetting a man slouched over, riffling through Nate’s work in the office.

Nate moved towards it. He made his way through the hall and down the stairs silently, taking an antique gun from its decorative mount on the wall as he passed.

In hopes of taking the intruder by surprise, he rushed down the last few steps and into the open office. The man heard his bare feet slapping against the wooden floorboards and straightened, but he didn’t have time to react.

Nate had his gun at the back of his head.

“Hands where I can see them!”

The man sucked in a sharp breath that almost sounded like a laugh as he placed his hands on the back of his head. He turned around slowly, facing Nate in the darkness. His features were cast in shadow.

“Is that the same revolver as last time?” a familiar voice asked.

Nate lowered the gun only slightly, confused. “Last ti- wait? Sam?”

There was a soft click as one of the lamps came on. Sam stood before it, his fingers slipping from the dangling chain.

“Good evening, Mr. Drake,” he purred with a coy smile like a Bond villain, he was just missing the white cat.

Nate stared at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Sam, what are you doing here?” he demanded.

Sam couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at the familiarity in Nate’s words.

“You know, I finally decided to take your advice. I wanna make new friends.”

Something in Nate’s chest clenched. Inside, he was filled with a heady mix of emotions. He was happy to see Sam, but should he be? Sam came back to him, but he still worked for Shoreline, didn’t he?

What if that night... what if it had all just been a trap?

Nate’s happiness was quickly consumed by his doubt.

Fixing Sam with a narrow glare, he adjusted his aim, still pointing his gun at the intruder across from him.

“Woah, woah, now.” Sam took a step back, nearly tripping over a box of old magazines. “Hey, what’s all this now? You don’t trust me?”

“I barely even know you. Why should I trust you? Because we had sex?” Nate demanded, almost sounding amused. “

Sam shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

“Jesus,” Nate scoffed. “You work for Shoreline, Sam, and now you’ve broken into my house... again.”         

“Okay, I admit this doesn’t look good, but hear me out-”

Raising his gun a bit higher to improve his aim, Nate waited.

“Ah... Honour among thieves?” Sam tried, pursing his lips.

Nate let out a sardonic laugh. “I’m not a thief; I haven’t stolen anything,” he snapped back. “I bought the cross. You can steal it all you want, I’ve already got what’s inside.”

“Wait, what?” Sam took a step towards Nate, who-after realizing what he’d just given away-thrust the gun forward, forcing Sam to back up again.

Sam held out a yielding hand. “There was something inside,” he clarified.

Still suspicious of the man before him, Nate remained silent.

“Look...” Sam bit his lip. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to make Nate trust him again.

Sam shucked off the heavy bag he was carrying with him. It was packed full, definitely not the empty sack of someone looking to fill up on stolen goods.

“I got this.” Sam reached into the bag, shuffling around until his hand reappeared holding up a white, leather-bound journal. “My dad died, but he had the decency to leave all his stuff to the orphanage where he dropped me off.”

Nate just nodded, not bothering to offer any condolences. From what he remembered, Sam’s dad wasn’t a very good man.

“Is that a journal?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “It belonged to my mom. Apparently my old man stole it same way he stole me, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is what’s inside.”

This visibly piqued Nate’s interest. His brow furrowed as curiosity got the better of him.

“What’s inside?”

Sam’s face split into an almost manic smile. He tapped the book against his hand before holding it up like he was a preacher professing the word of god.

“This,” he announced, “is research. It’s an intellectual gold mine on all things Captain Henry Avery.”

Nate lowered the gun to his side abruptly. He stared at the book. An overwhelming sense of familiarity flooded over him.

“Research?”

“Already went through it myself. I can vouch for it.,” Sam continued, not even noticing Nate’s reaction in his excitement. “The information’s good. There must be years worth of it scribbled all across these pages.”

Nate cocked his head to one side, looked into Sam earnest eyes and sighed.

“Alright,” he said, placing the gun down with a metallic thunk onto a nearby end table. “I trust you.”

“You do? Just like that?” Sam smirked. “You haven’t even seen the book yet.”

Nate paced up to him and shrugged. “Gun’s still not loaded anyway.”

Sam threw his head back and laughed. “Well, lucky you, I’m no liar.”

He held out the book to Nate who reached for it only to have it pulled away from his fingertips at the last minute.

“Hey, you said-“

“Something for you, something for me.”

Nate sighed heavily. He passed Sam and walked around the desk that the man had been riffling over when he’d first come in. He opened one of the drawers, and lifted a removable wooden slat from the bottom of it. Beneath there was a small hidden space from which Nate drew a single folded piece of paper.

Nate came back around the table and handed the paper to Sam, between two fingers.

“Courtesy of the good Saint Gestus.”

“I just wanted a kiss,” Sam murmured, as he leaned forward to press his lips to Nate’s jaw, “but this is nice too.” He took the paper and handed Nate the journal in return.

Nate laughed off the blush that was heating his face as Sam pulled away.

Sam smiled. He moved to unfold the paper Nate had just handed him, but as he did, Nate’s voice cut in, distracted him.

“You know, it’s strange,” Nate said absently, as he made his way over into the sitting room. “Evelyn used to write in journals just like this,” he said, more to himself than to Sam.  
Sam paused in his delicate handling of the clue from Saint Gestus’ cross. He followed Nate and sat next to him on one of the many couches.

“Evelyn? Your mom?”

“Not my mom. I was adopted, but my mom used work for her,” Nate opened the journal, “Cassandra...”

He stopped breathing.

Sam had placed the parchment on a side table and was busy trying to light up a cigarette, he was sure Nate wouldn’t mind since the house already smelled like a smoker’s den. He didn’t notice the silence from Nate until he was tucking his lighter away.

“Cassandra Morgan,” Nate repeated, his voice a whisper.

Sam plucked his cigarette from between his lips and nodded. “Yeah, that was my mom.”

There was a pause.

“M-mine to...” Nate replied.

For a long time the two of them sat in silence. It was only broken when Sam’s cigarette burned down to where his fingers were holding it. The heat nipped at them, causing him to jerk his hand and drop the ashen stick to the ground.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam breathed, leaning heavily back against the couch. He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. He had a strong urge to cross himself even though he hadn’t done it since he’d left the Boy’s home.

They both definitely needed to see a priest.

Sam looked at Nate, before quickly tearing his gaze away as if his eyes had been burned. Running his hands over his face, he groaned.

“This is fucked up,” he hissed into his palms.

Nate was frozen on the edge of the couch, the journal still open in his hands, his mother’s name scrawled across the first page in her all too familiar hand writing.

“It all makes sense, but... She never told me.” Nate whispered.

So many things were suddenly clear to him: his mother’s depression, her unwillingness to talk about his father... her untimely death.

“I don’t- Fuck!” Sam grunted and stood from the couch. So much of his life didn’t make any sense and now this? Everything just blurred into an even bigger mess in his mind. “How does this shit happen? Why do this? Why separate us?”

“I she didn’t want to.” Nate whispered. The broken shards of his mothers life, reasons for her sadness, they were all staring to form back together into a clear structure. “She wasn’t okay, Sam. And then dad...”

“Don’t talk about him. He can rot in hell for all I care,” Sam cut in. “This is all his fault. It doesn’t take much for me to understand that.”

Nate quieted. His gaze shifted this way and that as he thought.

“So, what now?” He looked up. Their eyes finally met again, for in a moment they both felt a rush of the passion that had so recently been stirred up between them. There were the filthy memories, the pleasure, the lust. It had all felt so perfect. It was erotic and stifling and...

...wrong.

They looked away from each other with identical pained expressions.

Sam started to pace, running his hands through his hair, holding them against the back of his head as he walked. He stopped when he reached the corner of the room. He his mind was racing in a thousand different directions, that was until he caught sight of a small book. He relaxed, and breathed and picked up that pirate history book he’d loved so much. It was still in the same place, unmoved even after all these years.

Sam stared down at the book in his hand. That book that was their beginning.

“You know, Nate... you may be my brother, but... you’re more than that. This connection, this drive we both have... meeting like we did, Avery, the treasure, whatever it is between us... It’s something deep. It’s-”

“Fate,” Nate finished for him. He came up behind Sam, wrapping his arms around him from behind. He tucked his head into the dip between Sam’s shoulder blades and closed his eyes. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my time-”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Crazy shit that trumps falling in love with your own brother?”

There was a pause, but Nate only smiled against his neck. “Honestly, this probably isn’t the weirdest thing to happen to me,” he admitted.

Sam smirked. He slowly turned his head and pressed a kiss to Nate’s lips, once, then again. All too soon they were sinking into each other deeply, their mouths moving together, hands gripping onto whatever they could hold.

Nate broke away first, his brow creased with confusion even though his eyes were slightly glazed. He pressed his forehead to Sam’s.

“Are you sure?” he breathed. “I mean... even though... what we know now...?”

“Hey, we’re not Sam and Nate Morgan,” Sam murmured. “You’re Nathan Drake.”

Nate smiled, filled with an odd sense of pride.

“Besides,” Sam continued with twinkle of mirth in his eye, “I’ve always wanted a baby brother.”

Nate backed away, punching Sam in the chest lightly.

“You pervert.”

 

Despite his protests, not five minutes later they were both in Nate’s bed, naked and embracing beneath the overheated blankets. Nate pressed deep kisses to Sam’s lips, moaning as his brother slipped a muscled thigh between his legs. Nate arched against it as his blood rushed low and hot into his core.

Sam smoothed rough hands down the lean line of Nate’s back. His fingers dipped into the crease of his brother’s spine, dragging along it until the end and taking both Nate’s cheeks firmly in hand.

He squeezed.

Nate’s hips jerked forward, pressing his hard cock against Sam’s thigh. With Sam’s hands on him, guiding his movements, he rolled his hips, gasping at the friction and the sensation brought on by each thrust.

Slowly and methodically, Nate teased Sam onto his back. He rolled over his brother and dragged his hands down his body. At an aching pace, he followed the lines he traced with his lips, pressing kisses to every inch of Sam’s torso... working his way down.

Sam watched him go, heart racing, breath coming out in heavy puffs...

... yet somehow he was still talking.

“You gonna suck your big brother’s cock, baby?”

Nate looked up with heavy eyelids.

“Stop.”

Sam chuckled, but a second later he shut up. Nate’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock, taking him to another world of pleasure. Sam threw his head back and let out a low groan.

His fingers combed through to fist in Nate’s hair.

Nate pressed his hands to Sam’s abdomen as sucked him deep into his throat, his tongue pressing hard to the thick vein running along the underside of Sam’s cock. His fingers caressed on the scarring along Sam’s side, smoothing over the old wounds as his head lolled up and down.

Nate looked up at Sam, his blue eyes alight with passion. He pulled back slowly with his tongue dragging behind at it’s own searing, languid pace.

All of a suddenly, Nate shifted on top. Sam hadn’t even noticed him preparing himself, but his work was much appreciated.

Nate sank down over Sam’s cock, letting it fill him in a single smooth thrust as he exhaled. He touched Sam’s hips as he bottomed out. Still for a moment, he let his body get used to the overflowing feeling.

Then all that was left to do was to sit back and enjoy the ride.

The weight above him was phenomenal. Sam thrust into Nate, his palms resting on the wide splay of his hips. Nate bounced with a lusty vigour, moving his body up and down in a way that had Sam grunting each time their hips met.

“Yeah, you take that so well, little brother.” Sam pulled Nate down against him to punctuate the words.

Nate threw his head back. His hands slipped in the sweat and slick building on Sam’s chest.

“Pervert,” Nate hissed, saying the word again with more affection this time as his hips rolled. Again and again, he dropped down onto the length of Sam’s cock.

Sam only huffed out a laugh. “Says, the little boy riding his big brother’s co-“

A hand left his chest and moved to cover his mouth before he could finish.

Sam’s eyes rolled back and he let out a muffled moan against Nate’s palm.

Nate rode harder, his body reacting to the control he had. He secured his knees more firmly beneath his body and tucked his feet under Sam’s thighs. With that extra leverage he moved faster, bouncing harder and harder on Sam’s cock, letting the heat of it fill him to the brim each time.

His pleasure boiled over as Sam’s hand slipped over the sweaty crease of his hip and thigh, down that perfect line of muscle that lead straight to his heavy cock. He was so ready, so fucking ready.

Sam knew.

As Nate’s hand on his mouth became a wisp of the pressure it once held, Sam kissed his dangling fingertips. He licked the palm of one hand and gripped Nate’s thick length where it was bouncing against his abdomen, his fingers creating a tight warm passage for Nate to fuck into as he bounced.

It was too much. The pleasure he was taking from both ends had Nate surrendering. The attack on his senses was too much. His hips jerked forward as he came. His body trembled, heart beating heavily in time with the pleasure that wracked him. He sat rigid above Sam as every atom in his being shuddered and gasped in satisfaction.

Slowly, Sam rolled Nate onto his back. His thrust became softer, more languid as he tried to draw out his brother’s orgasm. He knew he’d never get enough of seeing Nate like this, a shuddering mess beneath him.

“Was this your biggest fantasy come true or something,” Nate started as he caught his breath. “You have some sort of incest kink?”

Sam kept up the slow pace, his eyes closed as if he was trying to ignore the delicious taunting coming from below him.

Nate panted loudly beneath him, purposefully letting out the most wonderful sounds. He gripped the back of Sam’s neck. Pulling him in closer, Nate purred into his ear:

“You like fucking your baby brother?”

Muffling a loud groan, Sam sunk his teeth softly into Nate’s shoulder as he came. His whole body convulsed at hearing those filthy words slip past Nate’s lips. The pulse of his hips stuttered several times, pushing deep into Nate’s open body beneath him.

“Fuck,” Sam hissed as he came down from the high, wrapping his sweaty form around Nate’s as he moved them onto their sides.

For a long while, they just stared at each other, breathing in the moist air between them. Hazy from orgasm, they pressed listless kisses to each other’s faces, necks and finally lips. Sam slipped his languid tongue into Nate’s relaxed mouth; he swore he could still taste himself.

They parted. Sam smile and Nate smiled back at him.

Then, one more time, just for good measure, he whispered,

“Pervert.”

 

 

“Holy shit.”

Early the next morning, Nate woke in bed with a sheet over him and the rest of the blanket was piled up on top as if someone on the other side of the bed had thrown them off. He rolled over and looked up to see Sam sitting at the end of the bed with a cigarette in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.

“Jesus, Sam, it’s like five a.m. Why are you awake?” With a groan, Nate shoved his head beneath a pillow.

Sam pulled the pillow from him, holding up the paper in its place. “Have you actually looked at this? I mean _really_ looked at it? ”

Nate raised a single eyebrow and that made Sam laugh at his own question. Of course not. Nate didn’t have the extensive knowledge on pirates Sam had after studying them in a prison library for fifteen years. Besides, they’d practically been in bed since Sam showed up.

“It’s a grave stone. And there’s a page in mom’s journal that talks about some Cathedral in Scotland where Avery was last seen. Saint Dismas Cathedral!” Sam let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “It’s like... it’s like pieces coming together to solve a puzzle that I’ve been trying to work out in my head for years.”

“You know, it’s no surprise. Mom was an amazing historian before everything happened,” Nate explained. “That’s what Evelyn said, anyway. I don’t remember her that way. I just remember her... miserable.”

Sam sighed thoughtfully. “That’s because her greatest work... it was taken from her. But we have it now and I know this is what she would have wanted. She would have wanted us to continue her work.”

Nate sat up slowly and moved towards Sam. With his chin resting on his brother’s shoulder, he could see the journal open on his lap. It was filled with sketches, writing, maps and cut-outs all centered around the same theme.

“Captain Henry Avery,” Nate murmured. “There’s our man.”

“And here’s his treasure,” Sam replied, pointing to one of the cut-outs.

It was an old, black-and-white photo of the Saint Dismas Cathedral taken from a distant hill in the Scottish Highlands. With Scotland being the last place Avery was recorded to have been sighted, there was a good chance that is where they would find the grave that matched the clue printed on the parchment Nate had found in Saint Gestus’ Cross.

Nate looked down with wide eyes as he summed up the facts in his head. The grin the spread across his face lit up the room.

“We’re doing this,” he said. “We’re actually doing this.”

Sam ducked his head to press an impassioned kiss to his brother’s lips. When they broke for air, their brows pressed together and Sam smiled.

“So,” he drawled.

“You ready for a treasure hunt, little brother?”

 

 

 

The End...

 

...of the beginning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! That was it! I could basically rewrite the game from here: same plot interspersed with smut HA! 
> 
> I'm planning to do some Drakecest art. You can follow me on tumblr @itsanidiom to see when I post that. :D
> 
> I may write more Drakecest in the future (probably a porny oneshot or two I DUNNO). 
> 
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
>  
> 
> Your kudos inspire me to do some more!  
> Your comments inspire the boys to do some more ;)


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